


The Christmas Dinner

by SylverWillow



Series: Christmas with the Holmes' [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverWillow/pseuds/SylverWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John convinces Sherlock to attend Mrs. Holmes' Christmas Dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for the marvelous Katie, who requested that I 'explode the turkey.' It is also for Ann, who loved the first.
> 
> It is also for Tori, my wonderful beta. :)

"You can't tell me that you don't want to be around your own family for Christmas," John asked incredulously.

"I am telling you that I do not wish to see my brother, even if it is some silly frivolous holiday," Sherlock countered.

"What about your mother?" John insisted. "I'm sure she wants to see you." Sherlock sniffed.

" _Mummy_ has never showed signs of having much of an issue before when I haven't shown up to her Christmas dinner.," Sherlock replied curtly. "I see no reason why this year should be any different."

"Did you miss how elated she was when we showed up at her party the other night?" Sherlock stiffened at that.

"She has Mycroft. Why would she need me at her Christmas dinner?"

"Because you're her _son_. You're part of her _family_ , and families usually spend Christmas together!"

"Tell me then, why you're not going to Harry's for Christmas, since you're all about family," Sherlock retorted.

"Harry is back with Clara. She has her family for Christmas," John replied coldly. They had gotten back together about a month ago, and were happily spending the holidays on their own.

"You already told her you were spending Christmas with my family, didn't you?" Sherlock smirked, as John fidgeted where he sat, confirming his suspicions. John nodded.

"And what of _your_ mother?"

"My mother died a while back. When I was still in Afghanistan," John replied solemnly.

"Then why do you insist on going to see _mine_?"

"Because damn it, Sherlock, you're bloody lucky that you still have your mother!" John shouted angrily.

One could almost have heard the snow falling outside in the silence that followed. John gave Sherlock a hard glare as Sherlock stared back at John, his face impassive.

After several moments, Sherlock stood.

"Fine," he relented, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"Fine, what?" John asked, slightly confused as Sherlock crossed the room.

"Fine, we'll go to my mother's for Christmas." Sherlock pulled out his coat, pulling it on swiftly before setting his scarf firmly in place. He tossed John his jacket, and swept out of the room, down the stairs. John hurried to follow, confused as to how he'd won so easily.

The cab ride was mostly silent, aside from Sherlock warning John that if the night didn't end well, it was his own fault for making him go in the first place.

John's jaw didn't drop nearly as much as it had the first time he'd visited the Holmes Manor just a few days prior. He still marveled at how amazing the house was, but he was much less awestruck than before.

Violet Holmes answered the knock at the door herself, instead of the butler, like John had been expecting. She stood slightly taller than John, and she shared Sherlock's dark hair, and bright grey eyes. She looked overjoyed that her youngest son had come to Christmas Dinner. She greeted John just as enthusiastically and, as they entered, she whispered her thanks in John's ear for getting Sherlock to come as he wandered off toward the kitchen to see what was being prepared.

"You're quite welcome Mrs. Holmes," he replied, smiling warmly at her. "I just thought he should visit his mum while he still can, you know?"

"You lost your mother, didn't you?" she asked gently, looking into his face, her expression soft. She was more empathic than her son, and it showed in the way her eyes held a sorrow for him, and in the way her hand rested on his shoulder.

"She passed away while I was in Afghanistan," he replied somberly. Mrs. Holmes nodded.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," she replied.

"It was very quick, I heard, she passed in her sleep."

Sherlock chose that moment to return to the foyer without John or Violet noticing.

"And Harry never forgave you for not being here when it happened, did she?" he asked.

"No, she didn't," John replied, startled at Sherlock's noiseless return. The question hadn't caught him all that off guard, he was used to Sherlock knowing everything before he told him. "She actually broke my nose at the funeral over my mother's casket." John shifted uneasily as an awkward silence settled that made him uncomfortable. John decided to break the silence and lift the focus away from himself.

"When is dinner, Mrs. Holmes?" he asked.

"Quite soon, in fact, it should be ready any minute," Mrs. Holmes replied, her tone brightening. "You boys can wait in the sitting room if you like." The two men nodded and John followed Sherlock to the tastefully furnished room.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft's voice rang out, and Sherlock stopped dead, nearly causing John to run into him.

"Mycroft." His tone was cold and hard, and he was glaring icily at his older brother.

"So nice to see you here," Mycroft replied smoothly.

"So sorry it's quite the opposite for me to see you," Sherlock quipped.

"And you brought Dr. Watson! How are you, Doctor?" Mycroft queried, ignoring Sherlock's remark.

"Erm, fine, thanks," John replied.

"Good, good. Everything all right on Baker Street?"

"Everything's fine," Sherlock cut in.

"Calm down, Sherlock, I was simply making conversation." Sherlock glared at him.

"Dinner's ready! If you'll all follow me to the dining room, we can begin!" Mrs. Holmes announced, returning to her company. Sherlock and John turned as Mycroft stood.

They all filed into the dining room silently. Mrs. Holmes directed everyone to seats. Sherlock and Mycroft were seated across from one another, with Mrs. Holmes on the end of the table, and John on Sherlock's other side. Trays were brought in, and John's eyes widened at all the food. The turkey had to be one of the biggest ones he'd ever seen, and the dishes of food were so huge, he had to wonder if Mrs. Holmes wasn't expecting more people to come.

Mrs. Holmes encouraged them all to dig in, and they all did so, even Sherlock. John would have sworn it was the most he'd ever seen Sherlock eat in his life.

A slight noise came from under the table, and John saw Mycroft wince, and Sherlock smirk. Mycroft ignored this and simply continued eating.

"So, dear brother, how have you been?" Mycroft asked politely.

"Fine." Sherlock replied curtly.

"Any interesting cases?"

"Like you don't already know," Sherlock retorted. "How's it been, spying on me all the time?" Sherlock's manner more than indicated he was looking for a quarrel.

"I would like to reiterate that I do not _spy_ on you, I simply check in on you from time to time," Mycroft insisted, his tone level.

"Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Sherlock, a little self-control on your part would be much appreciated, I think," Mycroft replied in a polite but firm tone.

"Are you certain that you're not going to control me like you do everything else, O master manipulator?"

"Sherlock! You're going to upset our mother if you keep this up, so I'm going to ask that you cease this behavior at once," Mycroft said haughtily as Violet and John looked on in horror at the siblings' spat.

"I'm not the one who started talking," Sherlock snapped.

"I was simply trying to make polite conversation,Sherlock. I assumed you were more than capable of doing the same. Obviously, I was wrong."

It was at that precise moment that the enormous turkey exploded.

The world seemed to move through water as the explosion threw Sherlock from his seat, back into the wall with a resounding snap! and a sharp pain in his arm. He saw John crash through the window behind him, the shards of glass raining down upon the floor, narrowly missing Sherlock. He heard his mother hit the floor with a resounding _thunk!_ and when he turned, he saw her laying there, motionless. Mycroft was not within his line of sight, but he could only assume that he had been blasted backwards as well. A maid and one of the kitchen staff rushed into the room and immediately made their way to check on Violet. Sherlock stood, cradling his arm. He made his way over to the window that John had gone flying out of. John was standing slowly, looking out of breath.

"Are you alright, John?" he called. John nodded, making his way back to the now shattered window. Sherlock called to him to turn left, then ran to the back door in the kitchen, to let him in.

"Can you look at my mother?" he asked quickly after making sure John was really alright. John nodded, and bid Sherlock lead the way, to which the taller man consented before going to check on Mycroft. His brother had apparently hit his head and been knocked unconscious. He stirred as the consulting detective approached him.

"Mother?" he asked, seeing Sherlock.

"John's looking at her right now," he replied. "She was knocked unconscious as well."

"She's all right. Minor concussion, and the wind knocked out of her, but she'll be fine," John called. Mycroft nodded and began looking around, standing slowly.

The turkey shrapnel had flown everywhere. Bits of turkey clung to the walls, covered chairs and the table. All four that had been present for the explosion had bits of turkey in their hair, but John and Mycroft were the only ones pulling it out.

Sherlock felt some relief as he returned to the food-strewn table. Dishes had been knocked over, some off the table completely, and shattered plates and glasses covered the table as well. Sherlock sat on one of the chairs and rested his broken arm on the table. He began to inspect where the turkey had been. Sherlock knew who'd done it as soon as he looked at the plate that the turkey had rested on. He found a small, out-of-date mobile sitting on the exact center of the platter. It was a small flip-phone, black in color, and a kind of blob shape when shut. Sherlock flipped the phone open with a fluid movement of his wrist; a single text message blinked on the screen.

"Moriarty?" John asked as Sherlock's thumb hovered over the button to open it.

"I suspect so," Sherlock replied as his mind raced. Moriarty had gone too far, this time, going after his mother. In reality, he had gone too far in going after John, but Sherlock knew that Moriarty didn't just like to press his boundaries, he liked to break them entirely. He pressed the button, and the text message that blinked onto the phone's screen nearly made him rage.

_Merry Christmas, Sherlock! Hope you enjoyed my little present! ;) –JM_


End file.
